Parting Ways
by Stormcrown201
Summary: "This had not been what he had wanted out of his marriage. But what had he expected when he married a templar? Without the Inquisition, it had finally occurred to him, there was nothing they had in common anymore."


Silence. Heavy, uncomfortable, absolutely final. Cullen watches her pack her things with a feeling inside him that he's well familiar with but can't quite name. Disappointment? No, that's too mild. Resignation? That's a part of it, certainly. Grief? There's more than a little of that, too.

He aids her where he feels it appropriate, but mostly, he leaves it to her. She has always been independent, one-handed or not. She can handle this.

When it's done, she sits back on her knees then gets up to her feet. Cullen stands as well, but he does not approach her. They look at each other from across the room, and there's too much and nothing at all to say. Cullen sucks in a breath.

"Are you sure?" he blurts out, though she's always sure. Part of him still dares to believe that it can all be right, even as the past months have proven that they most assuredly can't be. It's a foolish part, he knows. Maybe it's just because Cullen wants something else in his life other than the Inquisition to not end, much less in failure.

Regardless. That wanting will go unsatisfied this time.

"I think you and I both know that this is for the best," she says with a sigh. Much as Cullen would like to, he can't dispute it. Not only have they both agreed as much in words, but his instincts have all been screaming at him for a long time that this would happen, was coming, would indeed be for the best.

Funny how the best option makes his heart ache, and hers as well, but that's just the story of his life, isn't it?

"I suppose," he says tiredly. He's not quite able to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry."

"I don't think it was you," she says. "And I don't think it was me. Perhaps it was both of us. Or perhaps…" She sighs as well. "Some people just don't work together. There's too much about you and me that's simply incompatible."

The past years have demonstrated that well enough. "Would it have been better if we hadn't rushed into this?" he asks.

She considers for a moment. Then she says, "Doubtful. Sure, we might have avoided all the shit with me neglecting you in favour of learning how to fight one-handed, but everything else would have cropped up sooner or later, regardless."

Cullen slowly nods. No denying that, he supposes. The problems began days into their marriage. She had been a soldier to the core with no intention of retiring, and so she had thrown herself into her training in one-handed fighting with such zeal that she'd left little time for him. He had been happy to help her learn, but he had wanted to spend time with her in different settings, too, and she would not allow that. It had been a struggle, but they had managed.

They had only just got past that when other things began to crop up.

With the Inquisition disbanded, Cullen had hoped she might come with him and help him run his sanctuary for retired templars. For a while, she'd considered. But then she had announced her own intention to return to the templars and had in short order been posted to the rebuilt Starkhaven Circle of Magi, which was hundreds of miles away from Ferelden.

She hadn't even protested the posting. If anything, she had been glad of it, the more so since she was to be Knight-Commander of the Circle. Her eyes had gleamed as she'd told him the news, and she hadn't sensed his dismay until he'd informed her of it. That they would spend most of their time apart simply hadn't occurred to her, and it also didn't occur to her why the prospect of relying on letters alone was unappealing to him. Cullen had told her, but she would not be moved. Starkhaven it was to be.

From there, the decline had begun. In many ways, they'd always been mutually incompatible, and it took a considerable amount of patient negotiation on their parts to navigate around their differences. Actually, they'd had to compromise on nearly everything, they were so little in sync. But she was not a patient woman, and after a while, it had begun to wear on him, too. He hated having to argue over everything. He had just wanted it to be simple—was that too much to ask?

And then there had been some things that could not be negotiated.

For a start, her career as a templar and her attendant lyrium addiction. He had hoped she might retire and withdraw from the lyrium, but she had refused on both counts. Much as she had come to doubt her Order during the war, it had since been restored, and she was dedicated to keeping it entirely on its corrected path. If nothing else, she had loved being a templar, and she still loved the abilities the lyrium gave her. She would not withdraw while she was still capable of fighting. To that, he had said that she might find work elsewhere, but she had refused. She belonged with the templars, and she could not be anything other than a soldier. Peace was not for her.

It was at that moment that Cullen had realised how much things were out of his control, how different the pair of them truly were—how little she'd been kidding when she said that she, with her lifestyle, was not made for marriage.

Still, he had hoped.

Then, finally, there had been the issue of children. Cullen had wanted them; she had not. He had wanted to settle down; she detested the idea. She had told him that she had no desire to be a mother, that she didn't have the personality for it; he had thought she was selling herself too short, but ultimately, he had realised that with her career and brash, hot-tempered, crude, often abrasive nature, she would indeed make a poor parent. So he had dropped the matter.

But it had left him feeling empty and aching inside, and as the years dragged on and she continued to spend more of her time away while being increasingly distant from him the rare occasions she was home—and she'd never been very affectionate to begin with—that feeling had only grown. This had not been what he had wanted out of his marriage. But what had he expected when he married a templar? Without the Inquisition, it had finally occurred to him, there was nothing they had in common anymore, and with all the negotiation they had to do to keep things running and all the things that could not be negotiated…

At last, he had mentioned as much to her. For once, she had agreed instantly. This was wearing them both down, she said, and holding them back. Perhaps it was time for it to end.

The thought had horrified him initially. For all the problems they'd had, he still loved her, and there were sometimes days when they acted the way they had in the early days of their relationship, years ago. But those days were increasingly rare, and she was right; there was more strain and stress than joy for them both. Ultimately, he had been forced to agree.

So, here they were.

"I guess," he says finally. He wishes he could chalk up some kind of emotion, but all he can feel is simple numbness. "Still, I am sorry. For how it all turned out."

She bows her head slightly and says, "I am as well. You deserved better than this." In the old days, she might have reached across to pat his hand or his shoulder, but she does no such thing now—doesn't even move to try.

"As did you," Cullen says. "Will you be going back to Starkhaven?"

She nods. "Mother wants to see me back at Ostwick, but I _know_ what that'll be about," she says with a roll of the eyes. Cullen smiles weakly. "I'm not prepared for another one of her lectures. So back to the Circle I go. I'll deal with her later. Will you be staying here?"

"I might visit Mia and the others," he says. "I'm sure Mia will talk my head off about this as well. But what can you do?" He chuckles, and she does as well. It's a dark, unhappy sort of chuckle.

"I hope she lays off you eventually," she says. She looks at her hand and suddenly grimaces. Cullen frowns as she steps closer to him, holding said hand out. "Not to add insult to injury, but would you…?" Her ring glints in the light, and Cullen's stomach plummets as he realises what she's asking.

Instinctively, he takes her hand, but he freezes before he can do anything else, and he looks at her. She nods once, encouraging and regretful all at the same time.

He sighs, reminds himself that this is for the best, and gently pulls the ring off her finger and drops it into her palm.

"Thank you," she says quietly. "I'm sorry."

He doesn't speak. He's not sure he can. He's just severed the last connection there was between them, symbolic though it may have been. He swallows thickly and just nods, feeling his jaw clench as he struggles to keep himself together. She looks at him almost pityingly, drops the ring into her pocket, and lifts her hand up to stroke his stubble. She does so with uncharacteristic gentleness.

"Take care of yourself, Cullen, will you?" she says. "That's all that I can ask."

Cullen nods again and manages to get out an, "Of course. You do the same?"

"Don't worry, I will," she says, smiling now. She drops her hand and goes to pick up her bags, all of which she manages to sling over her shoulder—again, without aid. When it's done, she goes to the door, and at this point, Cullen can feel nothing other than more numbness and bitter resignation. Much like the templars, one of the few things he has ever chosen for himself has failed. Another disappointment to add to his generous supply.

"Thank you for everything, Cullen," she says quietly as she opens the door and looks back at him. "I wish there was more to say."

"Thank you as well," he murmurs. "I think we've both said all that we can say at this point."

"Most likely," she agrees. She hesitates for a long moment and then turns away. "Good luck out there. May the world be kinder to you than it has been thus far."

It's not likely to start now, if it hasn't already, he thinks, but he doesn't say that, of course. "Good luck to you, as well," he says. "May you meet with success in all your future endeavours."

"I hope so," she says. "Goodbye, Cullen."

For a long moment, she waits, but once again, he can't speak. Finally, she lets out a sigh, carefully opens the door, and steps outside. She turns around and takes one last look at him, and all he can do is slowly incline his head—he can't even smile or do anything, really. Then, at last, she closes the door, and a few moments later, her shadow disappears.

He bows his head a second time. "Goodbye," he says, and he pulls his ring from his own finger and puts it away in his pocket.


End file.
